Survivors
by Icy Sapphire15
Summary: The lone survivors sit in 221B. Together they share their stories. Zombies!AU
1. Prologue

Inspired by an anon reviewer on my other look at zombies and the cast of Sherlock. I sat down and wrote these chapters over the course of a night in my good old notebook. So many thanks Gottle O' Gear, Bottle O' Beer.

Disclaimer for everything: I own no one and nothing presented. I don't even own Iris Shores, the loan companies do.

* * *

We don't know why, but the majority of London succumbed to the infection. To zombism.

One day, the dead were dead. The next day, I was using the crowbar in my trunk on every patient- and my coworkers. Working Pediatrics like I did, it damn near broke my heart. (Until I started in on the snooty residents- that was more satisfying than sad.)

I've always been healthy. We all were always healthy. That's why we're here, sitting in the 221B Baker St. As survivors. Not that there are many of us.

My goal is to leave a trace of our struggle. The struggle of some extraordinary people. If nothing else, when this is all over (God can't let this go on forever, can He?) remember the Baker St. Irregulars.

-Iris Shores, RN BSN.


	2. John

**Bold **is texts, _italics _are present day.

* * *

**The head tried to bite me. Wish you'd get rid of it. –JW**

**No. I need it for research. Tried to bite you? Excellent. Keep it- there are all sorts of experiments I can try with a dead head that spontaneously reanimates. –SH**

**Too late. –JW**

**-JOHN!- SH**

**-I'll get you another one. Currently killing Baker St. Watch out for taxis. –JW**

I tucked my phone in my pocket and picked up the cane again. "Never thought I'd be glad that Sherlock made this stupid thing stronger," I muttered to myself, before calling louder, "Mrs. Hudson? I'm popping out for a bit!"

Mrs. Hudson bustled to the doorway. "In those clothes? You'll get blood all over your nice clothing and then where will you be? The water won't last much longer dearie. "

I looked down. I was fond of this jumper. "You're right Mrs. Hudson."

* * *

I watched Sherlock amble down the street with one eye. The other was focusing on the homeless youth trying to eat my face.

"Really John? Fighting zombies in your boxers?" He sighed, "Do try to save me one. I imagine all that will be left for me is experiments. I'm sure the criminals will be distracted fighting these dull things."

Without missing a beat, I kneecapped the boy (_and he really was only a boy_). I grabbed it by the back of the neck and threw it at Sherlock. He squawked and caught it. I was bent over laughing at the expression on his face. "Right. See you inside. Be careful. I don't want to smash your pretty face if I don't have to."

I left Sherlock sputtering and disappeared, whistling merrily.

_Iris laughs. "Really? I can't see Sherlock making those noises."_

_John smiles back at her and leans forward in his chair. "Oh yes. I wouldn't believe it either if I wasn't there." _

_Sherlock appears behind John's chair, looming like a bat. "I did not make those ridiculous sounds."_

_Iris turns to a fresh page in her notebook. "OK," she says, picking up her pen, "Why don't you tell me about the first time you saw a zombie?"_


	3. Sherlock

**The head tried to bite me. Wish you'd get rid of it. –JW**

**No. I need it for research. Tried to bite you? Excellent. Keep it- there are all sorts of experiments I can try with a dead head that spontaneously reanimates. –SH**

**Too late. –JW**

**JOHN!- SH**

**I'll get you another one. Currently killing Baker St. Watch out for taxis. –JW**

**Need new head. John threw mine out. –SH**

**They're all chewing on each other. I can't give you a new one. The morgue and lab are closed. –MH**

**Please Molly? I would consider it a great personal favor. –SH**

…**I'll see what I can do. –MH**

This won't do. I need a head to experiment on. Or a body. No, bodies would be ideal. Dead bodies do not spontaneously reanimate and I wanted to know why.

Already feeling the boredom setting in, I texted Mycroft. I was loathe to, but he does come in handy.

**Molly closed the lab. BORED! –SH**

**Sherlock, what would mummy say to hear you whining so? –MH**

**BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED! –SH **_(For good measure, I sent that to Lestrade, John, Molly, and Mycroft.)_

**Busy. –GL**

**Go annoy John, the grownups are working. –MH**

Molly popped into the lab. "We're closing the lab. The morgue is overrun. You may be allowed upstairs. I can ask my friend…"

I growled and Molly squeaked. She disappeared. I gathered my things and swept regally from the lab. I ignored the nurses coming in for their shift, even the one who seemed to be cheerfully brandishing her crowbar.

* * *

_I'll spare you the details of the events during my return to Baker St. Sufficient to say, I had to drive my own taxi, and eventually walk._

I wanted to start dicessecting the zombie John had given me, but I needed to reassure Lestrade not to arrest my blogger. That being done, I immediately set about dissecting the zombie John so skillfully gave me.

Or, at least, that was my plan. The blemished youth (_Fascinating how they stayed post-mortem) _tried to "eat" me. Fortunately my reflexes being what they were, I was able to stay the jaws of death.

"MRS. HUDSON!" I bellowed, uncomfortably aware that I didn't know how to kill a zombie. I knew how to kill a man several different ways, in theory, but how does one kill a zombie?

"Really Sherlock, I was about to make a cuppa," Mrs. Hudson scolded as she climbed the stairs, cast iron teapot in hand. Seeing one of her favorite tenants cornered by a zombie, she brained it neatly. "Now I've gone and gotten brains all over my teapot. I was going to offer you a cup, but not anymore," she clucked sadly before she disappeared downstairs.

I considered experimenting on the dead body, but there seemed little point. I couldn't study the zombification process without a "living body". Instead, I pulled out my phone and texted John.

**Teach me to kill zombies. – SH**

**Now. –SH**

**Bored. –SH**

_Iris snorts. "Uh huh. Some badass you are." _

_John is laughing as well. "Sherlock, did it ever occur to you that I didn't have my phone on me? Tucked in my boxers during a fight is not where I want to keep it. I didn't even bring my gun." _

_Sherlock draws himself up indignantly. "I doubt you were any better Iris."_

"_Au contraire," she says with a Cheshire Cat grin, "I was the one with the crowbar going into the hospital." _

_Sherlock flounces off in a huff. _

_John grins at Iris. "That was you?"_

"_Yup. Who's next?" _

_Lestrade wanders over and plops down in a nearby chair. "I'll go, since I have a free moment."_


	4. Lestrade

**BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED! –SH**

**Busy. –GL**

I was busy. How often am I called to the scene of a murder only to bludgeon the stiff off my officers? Never, before now.

It didn't take long to get the corpse- no, zombie- off of Cooper. Of course, it was too late. There wasn't much of Cooper left at that point.

It was pandemonium. Anderson was breaking down in a corner. Sally was comforting her lover. My radio was being bombarded with other officers and DIs screaming about the walking dead. And a short blond man, killing zombies in his boxers. I had already gotten texts from Sherlock and his damned brother, one asking me "Not to arrest John, he's quite useful to me," and one reminding me that John was under government protection. I wasn't even going to ask how Big Brother got my mobile number.

Instead of wondering why John was wandering around killing zombies in his boxers, I focused on rallying the troops, so to speak. DI Gregson and DI Dimmock were incredibly useful, bless their souls. Between our combined efforts, we managed to get a small official force together. Most of them were either gibbering in a corner like Anderson, or fleeing, like Burke. An unlucky few were eaten, like White.

* * *

Leaving the fortifications at the Yard in the hands of others, I fought my way to Baker St. On the doorstep of that café stood Mrs. Hudson, frying pan in her hands, standing guard. "Hello dearie," she greeted, taking down a shambling zombie. She pointed with the frying pan, gore glistening off the bottom. "They're down the road. Dreadful about these zombies, isn't it? I'm getting gore all over this nice dress. Not that Sherlock's clothes are any better. At least John is wearing a lab jacket over his boxers. I just don't know what…"

Good God. That was a mental image I didn't need.

Saying goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, I set off down to road to find a wayward consulting detective and his blogger.

* * *

I found them killing zombies in a Starbucks.

"Now Sherlock, try to either cripple them or take off the head. For Pete's sake, you were whipping dead bodies when I first met you. These are hardly any different." John was apparently teaching Sherlock the finer points of killing zombies.

"Want to be our new official consultant?" I asked, half joking.

John pulled a knife from the pocket of the lab jacket he wore and threw it at a zombie's head. "Sure. Sherlock is more interested in studying them anyway." He plucked the knife from the zombie's eye and began cleaning it on the clothing of a dead zombie. "How are you and your men holding up?"

I shrugged. "As well as you'd except. If the zombies haven't eaten him, Anderson is a wreck, along with most of my men. DI Gregson and DI Dimmock are helping marshal the remaining men." I ignored Sherlock's superior sniff, trying to find a way to phrase our need delicately. "We, ah, really could use you."

John nodded. I sighed with relief.

"Come on Sherlock. You can make fun of Anderson while the grownups talk." He pulled his phone from his pocket, replaced it with the knife, and texted someone. "There. Mrs. Hudson knows we're going with you to the Yard and won't have to worry." Seeing Sherlock's obstinate pout, he sighed with annoyance. "I'll teach you to throw knives," he finally bribed.

"_And?" Iris looks up from her scribbling._

_Lestrade shrugs. "John and Sherlock were really useful."_

"_Sir," Sally greets. "They were the ones that helped establish a base here, that got me here, that got Iris and all the others here. We owe them our lives."_

_John fiddles with his thumbs. "We had help from Mycroft."_

"_Did I hear my name?" Mycroft comes over. Anthea is there, and she pulls up chairs for the two of them. Sally moves to leave, but Iris stops her. "No. Please stay. I want to hear your story too."_

"_There isn't much to tell…." Sally tries. _

"_Tell us anyway," Iris encourages. Beside her, Mycroft sighs heavily and dramatically. "You'll be next then, happy?" Iris snaps. "Go on Sally."_

* * *

The seating chart looks a little like this:

Iris

Sally Anthea

Lestrade Mycroft

John

Just to help you (and me) keep it straight.


	5. Sally

All I could think was zombies. Oh God, zombies in London. Like that movie. I'm sure the DI told you there's nothing scarier than seeing a body that you thought was dead pop up. Literally, pop up and eat a friend.

It scared poor Anderson to pieces. He was a good man. Of course he had his faults, but he was never unfaithful. Whatever the Fre- Sherlock says, his wife cheated first, and then filed for divorce. They were separated when we were together. We were honest.

There really isn't much to tell. Any bravery was shown by you, Molly, the DI, and all the rest. I had to have the remaining force leave with me. Otherwise I'd still be crying and screaming in the Yard, or in an ally somewhere. Dent the size of a golf club, or hatchet, or crowbar in my head.

_Sally's face tightens. "I'm sorry. I can't talk about it anymore. I saw too many good people die. Cooper? She had twins. Burke had a wife who was a nurse and three young kids. They're both dead. White? He was a good kid. A really good kid. He's dead too. Anderson…He was a good man. It just isn't fair."_

_Iris pulls Sally into a one armed hug. "Hey, it's OK."_

_Sally leans into Iris's arm. "No, it's not. I wish I was braver. Like Anthea or you. That woman is amazing. You're amazing."_

"_No, I'm not. I'm just a survivor." Anthea joins Iris and Sally, resting her chin on Sally's head. The men shift uncomfortably. Mycroft coughs. _

_Iris picks up her pen, dropped when she hugged Sally, and motions to Mycroft. "Well then?"_


	6. Mycroft

**Molly closed the lab. BORED! –SH**

**Sherlock, what would mummy say to hear you whining so? –MH**

**BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED! –SH **

**Go annoy John, the grownups are working. –MH**

**BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED! John stopped answering his phone. –SH **

**Sherlock, I really don't have time for this. –MH**

I toyed with the idea of sending another text, this one to the Queen, but decided to yell at my remaining underlings instead. After all, one does not do something as plebian as gloat to royalty, no matter how tempting. Even at the end of days.

"Where are the plans we made? I know Her Majesty called them frivolous and a waste of time, but they should have been saved. My assistant shrugged before using her stiletto to kill a zombie. I stabbed one distastefully with my umbrella's point. "And what are these things doing here?"

"Gragh," gurgled Colin, formerly my bodyguard. His body was already starting to rot and my assistant's other stiletto was lodged in his frontal lobe. That explained the gurgling.

"Thank you my dear. Really, such incompetence. I would expect better from my handpicked staff. Either they're dying of a mysterious plague, or they're eating each other. It's so hard to find good help these days."

* * *

After making a tactical retreat to my car, I called my mother. Family is important after all, and I was sure that Sherlock hadn't bothered to call her and check on her condition. Really, that boy can be so inconsiderate.

"Hello mummy. Yes, she's safe. Yes, I'll tell her." I turned to my assistant, who was gleefully running over zombies. "My mother says hello." Putting the phone back to my ear, I dutifully replied, "Yes, she says hello too. Mummy- No, I don't know. I haven't seen them. Yes, if I do, I shall pass along your well wishes to the Royal Family. Yes, all of them. No, not Ms. Bowles. Mummy- Can I enquire as to your safety mummy? Oh, I'm quite sorry to hear that. I know good help is hard to find, especially in this day and age. Mummy- Yes, we are driving. We're driving to Sherlock's flat. Yes mummy, I'll tell her. And I promise to give Sherlock all your love, and to tell him you approve of his new boyfriend. I don't actually think they're- Yes all right. You should come join us to meet him. I'm just worried about- Mummy?"

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I looked at my assistant. "She hung up on me. I do hope that means she'll be joining us." I stopped for a moment to relish the thumping from the wheel well. "As satisfying as that is, do not to ruin my car."

* * *

After unsuccessfully texting Sherlock, John, and Lestrade to learn their whereabouts, we arrived at 221 B. The streets were oddly clear, and I met mummy and Mrs. Hudson drinking tea upstairs. Mrs. Hudson explained that the boys were "out".

Before long, Molly Hooper, Iris Shores, Sargent Sally Donovan, and the other survivors appeared at our door. We began to fortify the apartments and the café, with me leading, naturally.

_Anthea expands her hug as Iris leans into her embrace as well. "Are there any others? Like us I mean? Out of everyone…You would know the best."_

_Mycroft shrugs. "Alas my dear, I cannot answer that." _

_A regal, older woman swans up to the group and taps Mycroft on the shoulder. "Come along Mycroft. Your brother and I have been having a little family heart to heart and you should be there, as head of the household." She turns to the group as a whole. "My poor husband, dead in the ground and now roaming the countryside. He was a good man."_

_She starts to say more, but Sherlock pops up over her shoulder. "John! Can we talk, in the kitchen? With the door shut tightly?"_

_Mrs. Holmes grabs his arm and tows him away. "Now dear, you aren't getting away from me so easily. We haven't talked since last Christmas, and you never told me about this nice young man you've found…."_

_The group sits in silence as Anthea delicately makes her way to Mycroft's abandoned seat. _

"_Well. She reminds me of a less senile version of my grandmother, bless her oblivious soul," Iris says. _

_Molly appears behind John. "Oh, I thought I heard Sherlock's voice," she says quietly. _

_John shakes his head. "Family chat."_

_Iris gestures to the seat next to Anthea. "Take a seat. I'm collecting everyone's stories. This can't go on forever, can it? When it ends, even if we aren't here, I want the world to know how brave we were. How resourceful. How clever." _

_John and Lestrade clear their throats, clearly uncomfortable. Molly sits down. "Well…" _


	7. Molly

I squeaked. I think a squeak is an appropriate noise when you open up a drawer to perform an autopsy and the man inside attacks you. The drawers started opening on their own, and the corpses started attacking each other. Mr. Peterson, he wasn't attacking. I remember thinking that at least one of them wasn't attacking me. I felt so lucky.

Oh, yes, sorry. I barricaded them in the morgue. Right as Sherlock started begging me for one. I almost told him yes. I don't know how I would have gotten it, but I almost agreed. Instead I somehow got him out of the lab and upstairs. I suppose we were the only survivors.

He left and I met you. You looked so much fiercer than me. A wet cotton ball is fiercer than I am. I know it was brave of me to find Sherlock before we escaped. We all had to be brave that day.

I'll never forget having to drag you away. Otherwise you would have stayed to kill all the patients and been killed yourself. I managed to get us to the lobby, where we met a few other survivors. Then the police came and we escaped here.

Thank goodness.

_Iris leans over and gave Molly a brief hug. "Thank you. Whether you realize it or not, you saved our lives. Lillian, Dr. Danielle, Kathy, and everyone else- we would have been stuck there and died if you hadn't organized us all."_

_Molly hugs her back awkwardly. "Oh, um, thank you." _

_Lestrade and John shift in their seats. "Is that everyone who was willing to talk to you?" John asks. His hand is reaching for the notebook when Iris exclaims, "Mrs. Hudson!"_


	8. Mrs Hudson

The first time I knew these dreadful things were about was when I heard John's shriek. Oh, he didn't tell you about that? Well, shriek he did. Right in the middle of my crap telly. Scared me out of my wits, me with my hip. You'll know as a nurse that it isn't good for me to be jumping about.

Well, zombies or no zombies, my boys need looking after. The shops will be ruined, so I told John to keep his nice clothes clean. No telling when he could get new ones. I saved Sherlock too, when he was cornered by that one. Caught on the couch like a cat up a tree, can you imagine? Got it right in the head with my good teapot. And then used it to make a nice cuppa for us to share. Just that once, I'm not his housekeeper.

Well of course I found John that lovely lab jacket. It belonged to my husband, back when he used to…Well now, that's a story for another day.

It's so nice to have these old flats filled again. Mr. Hudson and I never had any children, and with just John and Sherlock, it's been quiet. Hardly quiet, but quiet if you take my meaning. Poor Mrs. Turner and her married ones. Their home has been so quiet. Not after you lot came to fill it up.

Oh no, Mrs. Turner and her lodgers died in a homophobic murder before this whole mess started.

What else have I done? As that nice young DI no doubt told you, the first day I stood guard over my home and café. Who else would? John and Sherlock were off gallivanting somewhere, leaving me all alone. Not for long mind you, but they shouldn't have left me alone like, with my hip…

_Iris pats Mrs. Hudson's hand, interrupting her chatter. "Thank you for opening your home to us in this time of need." _

_Mrs. Hudson stands up from her position in the circle of sitters. "Why don't Sally, Molly, Anthea, you, and I have a nice cuppa and a bit of a gossip? Just_ _this once I'll make the tea. Next time you can. I'm not your housekeeper either dearie."_

_Mrs. Hudson makes to shoo John and Lestrade away, but John grabs the notebook from Iris's hands first. "You've taken down everyone else's story. Why shouldn't yours be in the chronicle too?"_

_Iris looks at everyone's expectant faces. "OK."_


	9. Iris

I was- no, I am a nurse at St. Barts. Pediatrics floor. If there still is a Pediatrics floor. I had been texted by my mum -a nurse in an ICU at a smaller hospital- that her 85 year old heart failure patient who had died hadn't quite died. That was the last I heard of my family.

So I grabbed the crowbar my dad got me and brought it to work. I thought all I would need to do is kill my patients I'd seen die once already. No big deal. But I was wrong. I got there right when the virus, curse, punishment for our sins, whatever it really is struck. Suddenly I wasn't killing patients who had died. I was killing the patients before they could die. For some reason, they never reanimated once I was through with them. Or maybe they did, and I was too busy to notice. It wasn't just patients. It was therapists. It was aides. It was other nurses. It was doctors and interns and residents. It was students. Anyone on the floor, and anyone who sensed a living body, was attacking.

I was never more grateful for the tomboy streak that led me to help my dad with projects around the house. It meant I had tools in my flat and the strength to use them. Not that it helped much. All I had was the crowbar that I kept in my car.

I was lucky. I heard that Kathy used an IV pole to fend off the zombies and escape. Dr. Danielle used charts of all things.

Yeah, Molly was right. Peds is right by the stairs to the morgue. Little bit grisly, but it saved my life. I didn't become a nurse because I liked the hours or the abuse that patients and families hurl at us daily. I became a nurse to do the best thing I could for my patients. And that meant destroying them. Molly nearly dragged me away before I wised up.

We met the other survivors and got out while the getting was good.

_Iris finishes her tale with, "Sometimes, at night, I wish my family and I had died together. I hope they're at peace." She holds out her hand for the notebook. _

_John silently places it in her hand and nudges Lestrade. They leave the women together. _

"_Here's that tea I promised." Mrs. Hudson appears suddenly from behind Iris. She settles herself comfortably. "You did the right thing. I know it's hard, love. Survivor's guilt is the worst kind of guilt." She nudges a plate towards Molly. "Now, have a biscuit and we'll talk about boys and soaps and other guilty pleasures, hmm?" _


	10. Epilogue

Somehow, we keep surviving. Survivor's guilt is the worst kind of guilt.

Molly and I spend our days caring for injuries. John would help us, but he's still the best fighter.

Mrs. Hudson, Sally, and Mrs. Holmes cook and clean, surprisingly. Mrs. Hudson is becoming our housekeeper. Then men, and Anthea, spend their days either learning new weapons, practicing, or foraging.

To keep our spirits up, they made a special raid one day. My cat, Molly's dog, Sally's ferret, and Mrs. Homles' dogs were all rescued. They made an effort to secure our flats and homes as well. Now I know once this all ends, we can go home again.

Thank God (should I be thanking Him?) it doesn't spread by bites. The zombism. And they have no interest in animals. After the initial pandemic, it just stopped. Anyone who dies still rises again, and they must be flooding England. There's no shortage. If anything, there's more.

We unanimously agreed not to look in on our families. None of us could bear any more heartbreak. For now, hope is enough.

The other survivors are nearby. We hardly see them, but we know they're alive. We've formed our own little family here in 221 Baker St. No matter what, we'll always have each other.

Whoever finds this record, I hope all is well in your time if we aren't alive to see it. Who knows, maybe one day this will all suddenly reverse, the way it suddenly started.

Signing off,

IS, RN, BSN


	11. Author's Notes

A/N:

I know it's an irregular zombie story, but these are irregular times. As Iris puts it, it's a virus, a plague, or punishment for our sins from a vengeful God. There was no patient zero to bite someone and cause the zombism to spread. Most of humanity was patient zero.

I know Iris Shores is a blatant OC-Mary Sue type gal. I tried to keep her realistic. Originally she was going to just narrate at the ends in one or two lines, and record the stories, but…Well, plot bunnies being what they are, her role expanded. As did everyone's.

I tried to keep anyone from being to OOC, yet realistic, and it hopefully worked. If not, blame a combo of stress and being filtered through another writer for it. Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Holmes were my absolute favorites to write.

Final note: Spot the cameos! Obviously I'm IS/Iris Shores, but recognize anyone else? If you do then you know me IRL (coughWerewolfHokagecough) or you know the area I'm from. I don't think I'm interesting enough to stalk. If you'd like to be a cameo, PM me or review it! I've got an idea that could use a few good cameos, lest I start drawing from my life again.


End file.
